The Doctor's Visit

Yesterday I had a followup appointment with my Rheumotoligist. My appointment was at 2:30, so we left home in plenty of time to arrive fifteen minutes early. When I signed in, it was actually 2:00 pm. They hustled me right in, got my b/p, temp and weight (the part I dread) and then took me to a back lobby to wait. I asked if Mac could come back with me, but was told that it was a patients only waiting area. Wait I did. At 3:30 I wasn't the only one checking my watch. One lady, who didn't even have a watch on , was checking it anyway. Finally they took me into an exam room and after another fifteen minutes my Doctor came bounding in. No really, he bounded. I've never seen such an energetic young man, it made me want to smack him. He explained that my bloodwork looked really good (it should, they certainly took enough of it) and my liver hadn't rotted out. Were they expecting it to? Just what have I gotten myself into? He admired my cane (yeah, well, it is a pretty good looking piece of wood work) and asked how I had been feeling. You know, what could I say? He was feeling so good it made me feel good, too. Why, I just feel fantabulous I almost said. Then he began talking about what a miracle I was. "I've been reading up on the file that your PC sent . I looked at him through narrowed eyes. "My computer has been sending you stuff on me?" I asked him. "PC" he said..."no no, your Primary Care doc...you know your PC?" I nodded at him and wondered if this was the same Specialist I had seen two months ago. Had there been an invasion of the body snatchers and someone had injected a hyper personality in my guy? Or had he just gotten a well needed nap? He seemed very rested. "Yes ma'am, you have overcome a heck of a lot and I see no reason why you shouldn't overcome this pesky RA situation. How's the medicine affecting you?" I explained to him that at first it knocked me on my butt for a day or two, but that now there were little or no effects. "Uh huh," he said as he examined my ankles, my fingers, my wrists...my neck. "Just exactly why were you in that tree?" he asked. "I see from the notes from your PC (remember now, that's not your computer, he whispered) that you were pretty much above the average age for tree climbing." Oh, come on Doc, I was 54, get with the program. "So, I just wondered what brought it on?" He was smiling while he felt my fingers one by one.
"I was in a severe case of denial, Doc. I refused to believe I was any older than 18. Guess I was wrong, huh?"
"Doggone, I'll say. Wonder you didn't kill yourself. So, say the medicine isn't making you sick anymore? Let's up the dose."
"Till what, it does make me sick again?" I asked (somewhat sarcastically).
"No, untill you feel the urge to climb a tree again," he laughed.
I like my Doctor! He gets me. He really gets me...